


Last Night and This Morning

by ferryberry



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F, POV Third Person, Romantic Comedy, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-21
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:50:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4251789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferryberry/pseuds/ferryberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Canon thru S1E3. The Cheerios, Finn, and Puck come into glee with hangovers, leading to a dare none of them are quite prepared to handle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Last Night: Sponsored by Jack Daniels

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. All belongs to Glee writers and creators.

"Why is it that you put your two cents in, but you only get a penny for your thoughts? What happens to the other cent?"

Santana groaned and thudded her forehead against the table.

"And what if an atheist goes to court? They can't swear on the Bible, can they? And what about us Jewish people? Do we use a Torah instead?"

Puck sighed as the cheerleader next to him slowly lifted her head, glowering at him. He knew exactly what she was thinking. This was the worst idea _ever_.

"And what happens if you get a paper cut on a Get Well Soon card?"

Had they honestly thought getting Berry drunk would make any difference whatsoever? He could only conclude that they had, since she was drunk. But still talking. Nonstop.

"What about if you find a four-leaf clover under a ladder? Oh! Or what if a black cat walks under a ladder _and_ breaks a mirror?"

Finn had fallen asleep long ago, and he was presently sprawled out on the floor next to Puck's chair, snoring. He always had been a lightweight when it came to his alcohol. Lucky bastard.

"Can you actually read a picture book? Wouldn't you have to 'view' it?"

Brittany was also snoozing with her head in her arms. In her case, however, it had more to do with a hard Cheerios practice and Santana wearing her out than with her ability to hold her alcohol. Lucky bitch.

"And why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle? It sticks everywhere else once you squirt it out."

Puck was relieved to hear something that wasn't a question. Sort of. Mostly he just wanted to throw his tequila bottle at her. He took another long swig, hoping it would help him pass out sooner.

"Okay, here's one: if Winnie the Pooh was sophisticated enough to put his honey in jars…why did he always eat it off his hands? Did he not have spoons?"

Santana had given up on the beer a long time ago and broke into Puck's mom's liquor cabinet for the whisky. She had a hard enough time putting up with Rachel on a regular basis without the aid of alcohol. But this? This called for the big guns.

"And what about Donald Duck? He wears a shirt, but no pants. What is up with that?"

The only person in the room who seemed completely unfazed by it, while still conscious, was Quinn. Who he didn't really think was listening anyway. She was actually just looking at Rachel's hand a lot, turning it from side to side and examining it. She always was a little overly friendly when she was drunk.

"And what if you have a cold Hot Pocket? Is it just a pocket then?"

And while Quinn was the only one unfazed by Rachel's rambling, Rachel was completely unfazed by the hand-examination. She just kept gesturing with her free hand as though nothing was happening. Which was Puck's proof that she was definitely, _definitely_ drunk.

"How old exactly do you have to be before they can say you died of old age?"

It had started out as a joke, really. They'd all gotten smashed over the weekend and Rachel was lecturing them about coming to glee with hangovers. Santana—rightly—said she wouldn't get it, and Rachel had, of course, gotten offended and said she'd had alcohol before. Puck—rightly—replied that it probably wasn't enough to get her truly drunk. And Brittany commented that she probably didn't even know what 'type' of drunk she was.

"Why did Sally sell seashells on the seashore? That doesn't seem very profitable. You could just pick them up off the beach for free."

Trust Rachel to be able to do a tongue-twister when wasted. Puck sighed.

"Since we have angel food cake and angel hair, does heaven have people food cake and people hair?"

Rachel hadn't even known what a 'drunk type' was. Puck explained he was a horny drunk—which Santana remarked didn't make much of a difference, and Rachel readily agreed, but asked them to elaborate. So they had.

"If you pamper a cow, do you get spoiled milk?"

Santana was a goofy drunk; Brittany was a catatonic drunk; Quinn was a friendly drunk; Finn was a cranky turned conked drunk. They'd had to explain the last part to Rachel, too. And then Finn had jokingly dared her to get drunk with them this weekend. And after Quinn said she wouldn't have the guts, Rachel promptly decided to take it as a challenge. Puck had secretly hoped she would be a horny drunk, but no such luck.

"If the Wicked Witch of the West melts in water, how did she bathe? Or was it just that one bucket of water? In which case, why would she keep it at her castle in such a random spot? Why didn't she just pour it out? Why did she have water at the castle at all?"

"Nope. Not man hands," Quinn said suddenly, setting Rachel's hand ceremoniously on the table.

Brittany jerked awake and Santana exchanged a disturbed glance with Puck. Finn was still snoring.

"Thank you, Quinn. Why do people refer to being happy or in love as 'head over heels'? Isn't that how we are already?"

"Wha'd I miss?" Brittany asked with a yawn.

"About a million more questions," Santana groaned, banging her head on the table again.

"And if you knew the levee was dry, why would you drive there?"

"And we're out of beer," Puck added, proffering his tequila bottle.

Brittany took it gratefully and proceeded to sit there, stroking one hand through Santana's hair while the other occasionally tilted the bottle back to her mouth.

"Why isn't 'palindrome' spelled the same way backwards? And for that matter, why isn't 'phonetic' spelled the way it sounds? And why is 'abbreviate' such a long word?"

The three conscious but un-entranced exchanged wide-eyed glances. They barely knew those words when they were _sober_.

Now that her hand-examination was over, Quinn had taken to leaning on her elbow on the table and staring at Rachel.

"Why is the alphabet in that order? Is it because of the song, do you think?"

Santana sighed and Puck took a drink of the whisky. It really was a time for strong liquor. And it was the only thing keeping them from dumping Berry in an alley somewhere.

"And why is it that when two things almost crash into one another it's called a 'near miss'? Shouldn't it be—be a 'near hit'?"

At that brief hitch, Santana's head popped up and Puck glanced over, too. They had hope that she would stop talking, but then she resumed as though nothing had happened—though something had. Quinn was now examining Rachel's neck with her hands. Puck glanced at Santana, whose brow furrowed so far he was briefly afraid she would get stuck that way.

"Why do we say our alarm clock is—is 'going off' when it's really—really coming on?"

Rachel shot furtive glances at the blonde to her right, who remained unaware of anything but her inspection. She was brushing Rachel's hair to the side for a better view, running her fingers—very lightly, from the looks of it—over the skin of her throat and neck.

"What's a hacky? And why is—why is it in a sack? Who put—put it there?"

Puck looked to Santana again. Quinn was always extremely friendly when she was drunk, but usually she just wanted to cuddle or something. It might be time to intervene. But now they had a slight dilemma. On the one hand, Quinn was their friend and they should stop her from doing things she wouldn't enjoy remembering when she woke up. On the other, why should they have to babysit her?

"If a singer sings—um…sings their own song during karaoke, is it still…is it still karaoke?"

And on a completely different hand, Quinn was actually making Rachel pause. Which was such a relief to Puck's ears he couldn't bring himself to stop her. Plus, girl-on-girl was just plain hot, even if they weren't doing anything.

"Wh-why is 'Joey' short for—for 'Joe'? 'Joey' h-has more…um…letters."

Santana sat up in alarm when Quinn started _smelling_ Rachel's hair. Puck grinned lazily until she glared at him. Brittany didn't seem concerned by this at all, but then…she was fine with the things they did when they were drunk when she was the only sober one. But if things were actually going the direction it looked like they were going…well, they would have to stop Quinn before she did something she _really_ didn't want to do. Damn it.

"Why is there a—a toll on—on freeways?"

Santana reached across the table, snaring Quinn's elbow, and tugged on it. Quinn swatted her away.

"Q, you need to stop now," she slurred.

Her face was still buried in Rachel's hair and neck, so the response was muffled, but it was definitely: "Uh-uh."

"Why…why do people squint when…when they're trying to see something better? Doesn't that…um…make it harder?"

Santana tugged again. "Q, seriously."

"Mm-mm."

That was another thing about Drunk Quinn. Her sentences were reduced to three words or less, and the words in them were usually only one syllable. It kind of made Puck think of a two-year-old girl. With pigtails.

"Um…would a…would a fly without wings be called a…a 'walk'?"

Brittany snorted, and Puck couldn't help a little smile, too. If she kept asking questions like that, it wouldn't be so bad. Quinn was still shoving Santana's hand off, and Rachel had completely given up on gesturing. Now she was just sitting very still in her chair, still talking—but almost as if she didn't know she still was.

"Q, _really_. You're not gonna like this in the morning," Santana drawled, shaking her head.

"Good smell," Quinn protested vehemently.

"Why's a partially open door 'ajar', but a partially open jar isn't 'adoor'?"

"Puck, you try," Santana grumbled, plopping in her chair.

Brittany stroked her arm. Puck sighed. He didn't know if he could get up without falling over. He set down the whisky bottle slowly, easing himself onto his feet and carefully avoiding hitting the table on his groin. He wobbled for a second, nudging Finn with his foot, then leaned over and tapped Quinn, who pushed him off again.

"Quinn," he tried.

"No. I like," she purred, petting Rachel's hair.

If Puck wasn't mistaken, Rachel's already flushed cheeks went a little redder.

"Why…why do, um, 'flammable' and 'inflammable' mean the same thing?"

"Quinn, er, you…stop." Puck had no idea when his lips had gotten so hard to move. "Like now."

She lifted her head for the first time since she'd started, and she pinned Puck with a steely glare. Or at least, that's what the two of her looked like they were doing. He blinked and shook his head.

"Get your own," Quinn growled. "This one's mine."

Yep, Rachel's cheeks were definitely redder than before. Quinn went back to hair-smelling, and Puck dropped back into his chair. The world was pretty dizzy for a moment, and he was afraid he'd have to run for the bathroom, but everything settled, and that's when he noticed Santana and Brittany had abandoned him. He huffed.

"When…when does the alcohol take effect? I feel fine," Rachel asked suddenly—only this time it was actually directed at someone—and Puck scoffed.

"Try standing up," he mumbled, rubbing his head.

"Oh."

"I want a kiss," Quinn said then. Only she was so wasted it came out, "I wan'akiss."

Puck's eyebrows shot up, and he glanced at Rachel, who blinked at Quinn several times—either she was processing, or she had the double-vision thing, too.

"Mmkay," she mumbled, and Puck's eyebrows climbed even higher. "Hold still."

Puck decided it was the double-vision thing, because Rachel turned in her chair and held Quinn's shoulders for a few moments, as though trying to steady herself. Then she leaned forward and clumsily pressed her lips to Quinn's, though it was a bit off the actual mark.

Quinn didn't seem to mind. Her hands were still tangled in Rachel's hair, and she pressed back into the kiss with gusto. She wasn't as tight with her tongue as Berry, Puck noted, because she swiped it sloppily along Rachel's lips and then what started out as awkward lip-bumping turned into a full-blown makeout session.

They moaned into each other's mouths and started tugging at clothes, and before Puck could fully process what was happening, Quinn had yanked Rachel into her lap so she was straddling her and she was slipping her hands under her shirt and Rachel was rubbing against her, and even though Quinn soon half-carried, half-dragged Rachel to another room, Puck grinned.

Because there were two drunken lesbian couples having sex in his house, _and_ Quinn had managed to find a way to shut Rachel up.

And then Puck had his own question, which made him groan.

Why hadn't he thought of that first?


	2. This Morning: Sponsored by Folger's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls deal with the aftermath of their drunken decisions of the night before.

Monday morning's glee rehearsal didn't get started until fifteen minutes after it was supposed to. Why? Because half the club didn't show up until then. Will wasn't exactly surprised in the cases of the three Cheerios and two of his football players, but Rachel? It was almost unheard of for her to be late to anything, let alone glee. He decided to let it go, even though the girl's smile was weak, she was holding her forehead, and her feet were dragging. Maybe she just hadn't slept well.

Now, however, he was wondering if he should've let it go so easily after all. They were running through Somebody to Love for the umpteenth time and while the other five late kids were valiantly trying to pull through, but mostly just mumbling their lyrics, Rachel was repeatedly going hoarse and grabbing her throat. That wasn't good for many reasons; one being that she was looking more frustrated and distraught by the minute. Another being that if she was losing her voice…well, let's just say Sectionals wouldn't look so pretty.

He decided to examine the others. Kurt, Mercedes, Artie, Tina, Mike, and Matt all appeared to be fine, if a little disturbed by Rachel's poor performance today. Finn, who was standing directly next to the incapacitated diva, couldn't stop staring at her like she had three heads whenever she went hoarse, but other than looking a little tired and going no higher than he absolutely had to, he was fine. Puck, directly behind Rachel, was grinning at the back of her head and occasionally glancing at the Cheerios—who were on the exact opposite side of the room—and waggling his eyebrows. Other than the grin at Rachel, that wasn't unusual.

Santana was smirking deviously, which wasn't anything out of the ordinary either. It was just a little creepy. Brittany was wearing her usual expression, and Quinn…was staring straight ahead. He saw Santana nudge her in the ribs at one point, but the girl wasn't moving her gaze from where it was for anything. She was stoic and determined and completely focused on _that_ spot on the wall.

Will was a little confused. Rachel looked a little frustrated. Scratch that, _really_ frustrated.

He waved his hands. "Okay, cut, guys."

The singing tapered off and Rachel stroked her throat uncomfortably as he approached her.

"Rachel, are you feeling all right today?" he asked gently, smiling when she grimaced.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Schuester, I'm afraid I have no idea what's come over me. Per—"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," Puck interjected, grinning widely. "Hell, if I spent the entire night screaming Q—"

" _Shut up, Puckerman_!"

Quinn had come back to life, Will saw. Her eyes were ablaze and focused on Puck, who blanched a little under the combined glares of Rachel and the head cheerleader. Santana, for some reason, found all this amusing and had started snickering uncontrollably. Quinn flushed and promptly smacked her best friend soundly on the arm. Somehow, that just made her laugh harder.

Check the little. Will was _really_ confused, and he wasn't the only one.

The two biggest gossipers in the club had been conferring this entire time, but it was Mercedes who blurted, "Okay, what the hell happened last night?"

#

_Two hours earlier…_

The first scream sounded about the time Puck had gotten the first cup of coffee poured. It was promptly followed by a second scream, which was followed by Santana shouting, "WILL PEOPLE SHUT THE _FUCK_ UP?" and coming into the kitchen for the cup of coffee Puck had gotten ready just for her. She was the devil incarnate if she didn't get her coffee the morning after a night of drinking, which was saying something, since he was pretty sure she was secretly a demon the rest of the time.

Meanwhile, in his bedroom, two very naked girls were clutching his sheets and their foreheads simultaneously, having just realized that not only were they in bed with each other, but they also had massive headaches that weren't helped in the least by all the screaming.

Rachel was the first to stop groaning, and hence the first to start panicking. "What are you doing in my room? In my bed? Why are you naked? Why am _I_ naked? How did you even get in here?"

Quinn rolled her eyes, because evidently the alcohol had made the whole never ending slew of questions thing permanent. "This isn't your house, nimwit. Do you remember last night at _all_?"

"Not as yet, and from the looks of things, I don't want to!" she yelped, and Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. Rachel shifted uncomfortably beneath the sheets. "Um…where _are_ we?"

"Puck's? Remember, we dared, you accepted, we drank…a _lot_ , evidently," she replied, keeping her voice meaningfully low.

Rachel stared at her. "Are you usually this calm when you wake up naked with someone?"

She shrugged. "I don't know, I've never had it happen before, but you're freaking out enough for the both of us."

Had Rachel not been stark naked beneath the sheets, she would've tossed them aside and begun pacing for the following lecture. However, remembering that she was naked, and disregarding the obvious truth that Quinn had seen a lot more the previous night, she was left to fume and fold her arms petulantly over her chest and the sheets. Had she not been so busy organizing words in her head, she might have noticed that this movement strained the sheets tightly over her breasts and that hazel eyes were no longer focused on her face.

Fortunately for Quinn (or unfortunately, depending on how one looked at it), Rachel _was_ too busy organizing her words to notice either detail.

"Well, you _should_ be freaking out!" she exclaimed decisively. "I think this is the absolute perfect situation to freak out in, and your non-reaction is quite frankly insulting! You shouldn't be trying to make me feel as though I'm being irrational for waking up _naked_ in bed with _you_ , my longtime self-proclaimed enemy, and finding myself a little out of sorts! Particularly when neither of us has any recollection of how said waking up scenario occurred! You should be commiserating with me about our bad fortune and then collecting your clothing and leaving at once so we can proceed to forget this ever happened!"

Quinn licked her lips. Rachel huffed and drummed her fingers on her biceps, tossing her hair irritably. Puck's clock ticked in the silence.

"As a matter of fact, why aren't you?" she asked at length.

Silence.

"Quinn? Quinn!"

"Huh?"

Rachel rolled her eyes and enunciated slowly, "Why aren't you?"

She blinked in confusion. "Why aren't I what?"

"Putting your clothes on and leaving. I can only assume you're privately enumerating the ways you'll seek revenge on me; after all, you must be downright disgusted with this situation, so why linger here?" she asked suspiciously.

Quinn glanced to her right briefly before stating plainly, "This side of the bed is against the wall. I can't get out until you do."

Rachel paused at this and surveyed the situation. Puck's wall was indeed a formidable obstacle to Quinn leaving the confines of the bed. However, Rachel had no immediate plans to get out of it herself. Unless perhaps someone lured her with pain medicine and five gallons of water.

Maybe some of her clothing was near the bed…. She peered over the side only to find that, well, they'd been flinging bras and panties across the room in their drunken stupor, rather than thinking ahead and placing them in an easily reachable area. If there was one reason Rachel was never getting drunk again, there it was. All of the careful planning she did when sober evidently went straight out the window, and that wasn't something she was willing to sacrifice.

She was startled from her thoughts when Quinn asked softly, almost to the point of sounding shy, "Why aren't _you_ getting out of bed?"

Rachel scoffed instantaneously. "I'm not about to let you see me naked!"

She could've sworn there was a brief flash of hurt in those hazel eyes before they turned cold and she arched an eyebrow, glancing pointedly down at their sheet-covered bodies. Rachel sighed.

"I mean sober," she amended.

Quinn nodded and made a show of stretching, cracking her back as she strained her arms high above her head, and Rachel averted her eyes hastily when the white fabric started to slide down her porcelain skin. When she heard Quinn sigh with pleasure, getting the kinks out of her body, Rachel was tempted to cover her ears and pretend it was all a dream. A bad dream, of course. She did close her eyes, at least, and repeated the mantra, _I don't need to see that, I don't need to see that, I don't even want to peek, not at all, nope_.

"Well, I guess we'll just stay in bed all day then," Quinn said casually, slumping back down next to her.

Rachel only moved when she felt Quinn shift the sheet back up, and the breath she'd been holding escaped her lungs in a whoosh. She tried not to gasp for air when she directed her gaze back to the cheerleader lying next to her. Her eyes were twinkling playfully and she was toying with a lock of blonde hair, one knee bent and exposing her creamy white thigh to the world, looking for all the world like a cat bathing in the sun. _Not to mention, absolutely delicious_.

It was only when that thought entered her mind that she realized what Quinn had said. Stay in bed all day? Alarms went off in her brain. They couldn't do that! They didn't even know what time it was! They might be late for school, or worse! Glee!

Ugh, but that would mean getting out of bed and letting Quinn see her…she shuddered. No way in hell. She was embarrassed enough already, and besides, Quinn didn't need more fuel for those horrid pornographic sketches on the bathroom walls.

She briefly entertained the idea that that's what this entire thing was—a prank, a hoax, a way to further humiliate her. It was entirely plausible, except for the fact that she was certain Quinn had been just as drunk as she, and giving her such extreme pleasure wasn't usually part of the prank. It certainly wasn't necessary.

Wait, _extreme_? Did she really have to be that…enthusiastic? Perhaps it wasn't that great. It might've been…she glanced at the hazel eyes currently sparkling with amusement. _No. Extreme is a good descriptor._

Rachel slumped, letting her head rock back as she gazed up at the ceiling, still propped on her elbows like she had been since checking the location of her clothing. Well, they say you learn something new every day, and she supposed she'd learned that alcohol plus blonde head cheerleader equals bad. Or…really mind blowing followed by bad. She nodded to herself in approval of the equation.

"I wonder what Santana will have to say about this," Quinn mused, again startling Rachel out of her reverie. She sounded mildly amused by the thought, and even more so when she snorted, "Or better yet, Puck. I bet he'll have a 'mailman' moment."

Rachel barely heard the second part of that. Her brain had caught on Santana and gone into overdrive. If Quinn was referencing Santana, it could only mean one thing for Rachel: humiliation galore. Santana wasn't the kindest soul, to say the least, but when it came to her fellow brunette, it was like letting a pit bull loose in a cage with a wounded bunny rabbit. Not. Pretty.

She could only _imagine_ what Santana would 'have to say' about this situation, and…wait, Quinn looked _amused_? Was she thinking it would be funny to see people making fun of Rachel and dragging her down? Did she find the prospect of Rachel being known as Quinn Fabray's Big Drunken Mistake comical? Because Rachel wasn't good enough for Quinn, and people wouldn't hesitate to point that out. And…well, if Quinn found that funny, then obviously her opinion wasn't much different.

Before she knew what was happening, Rachel felt…wounded. Hurt. And her expression was showing it plainly, she knew, so she turned her face away from Quinn yet again and tried to come up with a way to cover it. She couldn't show weakness like this to her if she was only going to use this incident to humiliate her, so she took a deep, cleansing breath to fight back the oncoming tears at the thought of being Quinn's mistake, and thought fast.

"Nobody will have anything to say about it, because this little…blunder isn't leaving this room," she said, and hoped Quinn didn't put the harshness of her voice to her tears.

"You do realize they probably at least saw us kissing last night, right?" Quinn snapped viciously, and Rachel stiffened, bolt reflex in place and ready to be tripped.

"Then it doesn't leave this house," she retorted, keeping her gaze trained on a slowly blurring red sock on the floor, not daring to meet the palpably furious cheerleader's eyes.

Puck's clock seemed louder in the silence this time. Every tick made Rachel want to flinch, but she refused to let herself be swayed from her position. That is, until she heard Quinn huff harshly next to her.

"I see," she ground out, and flung the sheet off of herself.

Rachel closed her eyes in a grimace as Quinn clambered over her legs, hopping off the bed and rooting through the clothes strewn across the floor to find her own. She had pulled on her panties and jeans before she whipped to point accusingly at Rachel, eyes crackling with fury and…were they shining with…no, she couldn't possibly….

"Like you have any right to be ashamed? It's not like this is going to ruin _your_ reputation," Quinn spat, obviously trying desperately to reclaim the higher ground. "I probably just gave you a boost. You never know, maybe the geeks in the AV club will want you now."

On the inside, Rachel was crying her eyes out. However, she was determined to keep the control in this conversation, and that weakness had to be kept to herself. So she glared at the beautiful blonde, who was slipping on her bra, and wrapped the sheet tightly around herself as she stood. This time she didn't miss the way hazel eyes traveled down her body, and it made her grimace at what she was about to say.

"I might not be desirable to the majority of McKinley's student population, but _you_ were the one that wanted me last night." She shrugged. "You have no one to blame but yourself."

Quinn's jaw flapped wordlessly for a moment, and Rachel took advantage of the silence, sliding her clothes on beneath the sheet.

"Oh, right, like it doesn't take two to do this," Quinn blurted at length.

She was still shirtless, and Rachel fought valiantly not to stare at her chest as she pulled on the butterfly t-shirt she'd been wearing the previous evening so she could finally drop the sheet. Screw her bra. It could be a surprise for Puck later. Right now, she just wanted to get out of there and away from her humiliation.

"I was drunk," Rachel said simply, avoiding her gaze.

"And I wasn't?" Quinn snorted.

She had a point. However, Rachel couldn't let go of the higher ground just yet. She had to make it out of this house with her dignity intact, at least. Before she arrived at school later and lost all sense of it when the cheerleaders told everyone just how easy she was when she was drunk. Or maybe they'd let the 'drunk' part slip. Rachel fought a shudder in favor of yanking on her skirt.

"Fine, have it your way. This was a mistake on both our parts and it will never happen again," she said nonchalantly, and even she was a little spooked by her acting ability. "I'd still rather you didn't tell anyone."

Clothed at last, she turned to the door and left Quinn to her thoughts, desperate to get to her penny loafers. That was all she needed. Then she could go home, cry for a little bit, and get ready for school. It was still mostly dark out, she saw, so hopefully all this wouldn't put her too far behind schedule.

A grimace crossed her face before she could stop it when she spied Brittany coming out of the bathroom in her pjs, toothbrush hanging from her mouth. Brittany grinned around the paste still foaming up her mouth and waved rapidly, and Rachel weakly returned it, hoping the toothpaste would keep her from holding her up. She just wanted her penny loafers.

"Hell, no!"

So close. Against her better judgment, Rachel turned from the suddenly pouting Brittany to the fiery-eyed Quinn, who yanked her shirt the rest of the way over her head and stomped directly in front of her, getting in her face. The proximity was disorienting, but Rachel stood her ground.

" _You_ do not get to say that to me. _I'm_ the one with the reputation; _I_ don't want this getting out. You're right. You are a drunken mistake, and that's all you are to me," Quinn said determinedly. Rachel privately wondered who she was trying to convince. "You're the dirt on my shoes and from now on? I don't even want you to be that. Stay away from me."

Her eyes were wide, her breaths ragged, and her words desperate. She looked frenzied, and Rachel felt a twinge of sympathy for her. But all this was, was an attempt to save her reputation, to save face. Spying movement out of the corner of her eye and Brittany still beyond Quinn, Rachel decided to give it to her. She owed her that much, she supposed, after taking her dignity away in private.

"I will if you will," she said evenly.

But Quinn didn't take the easy bait. She didn't scoff, sneer; all she did was blink rapidly, avoiding Rachel's eyes, before snapping harshly, "Fine."

Rachel swallowed heavily, turning her eyes from both the adorably confused blonde with the toothbrush still hanging from her mouth and the distressed blonde wringing her sleeves in her thumbs. As she expected, there were three expressionless faces staring back at her from the kitchen doorway. Finn frowned when she met his gaze, looking puzzled—no big shock there—and Santana smirked at her knowingly before she retrieved her penny loafers at last and hurried from the house.

#

"Nothing!" Rachel yelped defensively.

"Absolutely nothing," Quinn agreed hurriedly.

Eleven disbelieving faces stared back at them.

"Honestly, what's with the third degree?" Rachel mumbled uncomfortably, staring down at her shoes.

Santana turned on her heel to face the inquisitive people in the back row, beginning delightedly, "So the other week we all came into glee with…uh." She glanced at Mr. Schuester, who rolled his eyes when she continued on. " _Migraines_ , if you know what I mean, and Berry here—"

"No, don't start with the boring stuff," Puck said irritably. "What happened was we were all really…uh." He glanced at Mr. Schue. " _Loud_ and—"

"God, look!" Quinn exclaimed, running a hand over her forehead. "Before we hear the twisted, lewd versions of what happened, why don't we tell you the truth?"

"But the other version sounds so much better," Kurt interjected.

Quinn glared at him and he hastily gestured for her to go ahead.

"You're not really going to tell them, are you?" Rachel hissed, venturing closer to her.

Quinn blatantly ignored her. "So, last night, the six of us were hanging out."

"You…don't hang out with Rachel," Mercedes pointed out, before she, too, was glared into submission.

"And Rachel and I made the mistake of deciding to—" she cleared her throat "—sing hard metal songs."

"That explains the hoarseness," Mr. Schue said, relieved.

The teenagers collectively rolled eyes at him.

"Wait, we didn't decide," Rachel interrupted, climbing up the risers to stand next to her fellow storyteller and facing the gossip-hungry group. They were practically salivating at her, and it was a little unnerving. She shifted closer to Quinn. " _Quinn_ said she wanted to…sing hard metal." Her brow knit as she glanced at Quinn, who bristled.

"Yes, I said I wanted to, and you agreed," she retorted pointedly, folding her arms.

"But I was dr—" Rachel cleared her throat, glancing at Mr. Schuester. "I was hopped up on cold medication. I wasn't thinking clearly."

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Rachel, you were sick?" Brittany asked, pouting suddenly.

"You didn't have to agree. You could've said no," Quinn snapped irritably.

"As I said, my thought processes were debilitated by the cold medication. I clearly had no idea what I was doing."

"Yeah? Well, you sure _seemed_ like you did," she bit back.

"Damn! Berry, have you, uh, sung hard metal with _other_ girls?" Puck queried, eyebrows bouncing.

Rachel went beet red. "No! No, of course not!"

"She's just a fast learner with a _very_ talented tongue," Quinn purred, almost right into her ear, and Rachel thought she might faint.

"I think the subtext is starting to become the text," Santana observed.

"Look, my obvious _singing_ talent is not the point here," Rachel managed to grind out, attempting to make it clear she was not talking about the metaphorical 'singing.' "The point is, we sang hard metal and consequently woke up with headaches and sore throats and deeply regretted it. No matter how enjoyable it was at the time."

Puck snorted. "I'll say it was enjoyable. You guys did it _all night_."

"Dude, your bed is creaky, by the way," Finn commented. "Kept me up."

"Wait, you thought it was enjoyable?" Quinn interjected, stepping into Rachel's line of vision.

"Of course," she blurted without thinking, then blanched. "I-I mean…yes, it was…satisfactory. I-I never realized the appeal of singing hard metal before, but after you showed me how…fun it could be, now that I remember it anyway, I-I wouldn't be opposed to doing it again. Although preferably without the cold medication this time."

"But probably with someone more experienced and better at it than Q, right?" Santana asked helpfully, a devilish glint in her eye.

Rachel squirmed uncomfortably, and the longer she was silent, the more dejected Quinn looked, to the point where Rachel just couldn't take it anymore.

"No, not necessarily. If Quinn would like to sing hard metal with me again, I think she's…quite proficient and I…would rather have her as my partner than anyone else," she admitted softly, shyly, and Quinn looked completely taken aback.

"But…but you said you didn't want anyone to know," she replied, matching Rachel's tone.

She smiled. "I was only saying it before you did. I mean, honestly, who in this room would want to sing hard metal with me, let alone have people know about it?"

" _Definitely_ not me," Santana said immediately.

There were a few other 'no's, though Puck said, "I'd do it with ya," to which Quinn replied, "Hey, mine!"

And promptly blushed, until Rachel grinned at her.

Finn was scratching his head, and Brittany said, "I think that would hurt my voice, and Santana likes it when I scream her name." Santana promptly facepalmed. "But I would sing other stuff with you, Rachel!" She grinned.

Rachel was distracted from chuckling at the enthusiastic and completely oblivious blonde by someone's warm fingers curling around her hand. She squeezed Quinn's hand reassuringly and she smiled bashfully.

"I would love to…sing hard metal with you again," she murmured quietly, cracking a grin at the metaphor. "And maybe…other genres, too?"

Rachel bit her lip and smiled. "Like soft rock?"

She nodded and said sweetly, "Or like the music they play at Breadstix."

Rachel was practically aglow, while Finn was still scratching his head.

"But…that doesn't have any words," he pointed out.

Puck patted his shoulder.

"I think they play some pretty good selections on Fridays at, say, eight?" Rachel offered coyly, and Quinn smirked, shifting closer.

"Sounds perfect," she said lightly, dipping to press a kiss to her forehead. "But I think we should lay off the hard metal until then. I'm still kind of recovering from last night." A cheeky grin spread across her lips while Rachel blushed profusely.

"Okay, that was gross," Santana said. "Can we get back to practice now that they've got their shit sorted out?"

"Uh…yeah. Everybody, um…let's…from the top," Mr. Schuester fumbled, glancing uncomfortably at the cozy teenage girls still holding hands in the back.

As everyone moved back to their seats, Quinn and Rachel scooting their chairs unnecessarily close to one another, Matt cleared his throat.

"Uh, just so we're all clear, those two were drunk and had sex, and now they're dating?" he asked uncertainly, and Santana wasn't the only one facepalming this time.

"Dude, now I see why you never talk," Puck snapped, shaking his head disapprovingly.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Mr. Schuester said.

" _Oh_ , so _that's_ what the hard metal thing meant?" Finn exclaimed.


End file.
